The bright sun was hitting every single inch of exposed skin I had, turning the horribly pale mess somewhat tanned before it became itchy and red. I huff, boosting the heavy box up to my chest with my knee then began walking back inside. Get a box from the moving truck, go inside, come back outside, repeat. It was a seemingly endless cycle of aching muscles and sunburnt patches of skin. Considering there was only three of us here to unpack all of our things including mattresses, bed frames, dining table, chairs and more it was taking hours upon hours just to get one of the three trucks cleared out.

Tram, dad and I had each driven a truck here after we had lunch, yet when I turned back to overlook the mountains and city hiding behind the houses on our street I was greeted by splashes of pink and purple splattered across the dimming sky instead of the bright sun. Despite it getting dark it was still unfairly hot, although that could be because I've been moving all day.

"Maybe, if I'm lucky, I will predict my own death soon." I strain out, struggling to carry the box inside. Hours of hard work had turned all 26 bones of my body into a slushy, my muscles snapping as if they were guitar strings. Tram simply laughed, pausing to shift the trolley around so he could better lift the cabinet up the single stair at our doorway.

Suddenly, a loud car horn echoed throughout the neighbourhood. The second we stopped to see where the noise came from was the moment gravity had its full effect on us and we find ourselves sitting down on the ground out of pure exhaustion.

"Ross! What have you done to my beloved grandchildren?" I hear a familiar voice curse my dad out. Tram and I glanced at each other for a second, seeing if the other had heard it too or if it was just exhaustion playing tricks on us. But, sure enough, I lean forward to see the top of my Nanna's usual black Beehive haircut step out of her red convertible, one of her infamous designer bags in hand. I remember calling her the older version of Jeffree Star without all the controversy, Nanna had no idea who that was but it would always make her laugh.

"Our Saviour!" Tram announced through puffs of air. Pushing himself up, his joints popped like popcorn spinning in the microwave but that didn't stop him from hobbling down the stairs with one hand pressed against his lower back, the other reached out so he could wrap it around our Nanna.

"Tram, hello! How is my favourite grandson doing? You remind me of your dear old Poppa John with how you're holding yourself right now." She smiled at him, her handbag sliding down her forearm as she wrapped her arms around him. My ears starting ringing loudly as I stood up, blocking out part of their conversation. I've never been genuinely exhausted before, but lord do I envy the past me for never knowing what this felt like.

"I thought Child labour was illegal," Nanna commented once she pulled back from the hug, sliding on her glasses with a sarcastic smile. She always loved to slyly insult my father ever since he proposed to my mother, her daughter. She didn't hate him exactly, partly because he gave her us, she just never thought he was good enough for my mum. "But, I guess not being able to afford good help will drive you to do moronic things."

"Nice to see you again, Abigail." Dad forced through a tight-lipped smile. He hated her being around which made her presence all the more fun, especially when she would buy Tram and me ridiculously expensive things that were utterly useless, just in an effort to make him look bad.

Nanna ignored him, instead, she narrowed her gaze on me with a loving smile. "My god, you've gotten incredibly thin. Does your father not know how to feed growing teenagers?"

"I've missed you, Nanna." I smile, practically falling into her embrace so I could hug her without blacking out. I felt like I was being dramatic but my body was not agreeing with the amount of heavy lifting I've been doing.

"Darling, you're over-worked." She stated the obvious, pulling me back to press the back of her cold hand against my forehead like a gust of wind ripping through the suns glare. Her expensive perfume swallowed up my senses, a smell I missed so much especially since it faintly reminded me of my Mum. It seemed like everything my Mum ever touched disappeared, even her clothes and things somehow not ending up on the moving trucks. I get that Dad didn't want to remember her, and I understood that, but I didn't want to remember her as the ghost she was now. "Some ice cream would do you good."

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The ice cream and caramel topping filled plastic cup felt as if it was turning the top layer of my skin into frost, filling the cracks of my fingertips with water like a storm to a gutter. It seemed we've been sitting at this park forever; so long that the sky has dragged the cold air hand in hand with the full moon past us, drowning out the heat. Although we've been here for hours, it didn't feel long enough.

Swing rocking back and forth ever so softly, I stared over at my Nanna and brother while they sat at the table and chairs. Tram was always closer to her then I was, probably because I reminded her too much of dad, and Tram was the spitting image of our Mum. Her death had killed Nanna, even if she buried herself deep in expensive jewellery and luxurious trips to exotic places, I could still see the tears hiding behind the glass walls of her eyes every time she glanced at Tram or saw something that reminded her of her late daughter.

Perhaps I should think myself lucky that I can still see my Mum whenever I try hard enough, but when I look over at the swing beside me and see her staring intently at her own mother--tears lining her face like the stretch marks she developed from carrying my brother and me-- I realise that they're the lucky ones.

I couldn't sit there, watching her try and hold back her cries. So, I stood up from the swing and walked over the table where they sat, plopping my bum on the table instead of the designated seat. "How come you haven't called since the funeral?"

"Gracie," Tram warned, his eyes wide and brows furrowed in disappointment. I ignored his stare, staring down as I mixed the vanilla treat with the caramel flavouring until the two colours devoured each other, sliding a small spoonful into my mouth when I was done.

"It was difficult to do- do anything, really." Her voice broke mid-sentence, she almost looked ashamed over the fact she was even remotely saddened by her daughters' death. I knew my great grandpa was tough on Nanna when it came to emotions, but I had no idea how much it affected her. I now felt bad for bringing up the funeral.

Nanna had spent thousands upon thousands on Mums funeral as if she was showing off her little girl one last time. She didn't seem upset while dressed in all black Gucci clothing, but I heard her sobbing her heart out when she thought everyone had left, saw her holding the coffin so hard that she sprained one of the muscles in her arm. "But, that's no excuse. I should have remembered that I, that I wasn't the only one who lost someone I loved more than anyone else who's ever existed. And for that, I'm sorry." her hazel eyes resembled that of an almost empty watering can, giving its last bit of life to the flowers so they could breathe another day. Some might see and think she was simply cold-hearted and putting on a performance, but I knew my Nanna well enough. She never cried, so crying in front of us was a big step for her.

My hand moved to cover hers, an act of sympathy and understanding. The action revealed something to me. Upon touching her I could see a faded memory of her hugging an outline of my mother, her ghost. But, that only means one thing. It means that she's like me, she sees things too. I clench my necklace in comfort, a habit I developed after knowing how much it could save my life one day. Somehow, it was comforting knowing that someone was ready to drop everything the second they knew I needed them, even if it was for physical danger rather than mental distress. It was still a good feeling to know I meant something, regardless.

Turning to tram, I stare at him as if a look could tell the story my voice couldn't. But he didn't meet my gaze, instead, hugging Nanna before they continue to tell stories about when things were okay; when things were normal.

"Why don't we ditch the park before the crackheads come out and shame us for being too old to be here?" I suggest, scrapping caramel from the sides of my sundae cup. I had no idea what time it was, my phone was left at home and I haven't owned a watch since I was eleven, but it felt as if we had been here for so long that the sun was about to greet us in the form of a pink and orange glow, despite the sky disagreeing with me.

"I should probably be getting you two back home before your father has a stroke. He has been texting me about you both all night, and by 'you both' I mean Gracie." Nanna commented, her voice turning dangerously pissed the further she spoke upon looking at her phone, possibly over the fact that dad only seemed concerned over me.

"Don't feel sad, Tram. We all knew I was his favourite." was my feeble attempt at brightening up the dim conversation.

My dad had grown distant from Tram over the past few years, I say grown but really he pushed Tram away from him. It started around the same time the voices in my head stopped murmuring like a small vibration and began roaring as loud as a train moving along the tracks. Perhaps it was my fault they didn't get along as well as they used to, maybe it was because I took too much of dad's energy with my problems or maybe it was Dad's fault for being a complete ass when Tram came out to him. He wasn't an ass in a homophobic way, he didn't try and 'turn him straight' or kick him out, but he didn't make Tram feel very welcomed. Either way, it seemed like I was the glue keeping them together.

When we finally arrived home, Grandma announced she would be staying for a few nights and asked if Tram and I could help set up a bed for her in my room as 'she was old and her bones were frail' which was a load of horse shit but we set up the pull out bed for her anyway. She rewarded us with fifty dollar bills afterwards, one of the perks of having a wealthy Nanna. Things started to feel normal again with her around as if she filled the void our Mum left behind when she died.

Upon checking my phone, the first thing I noticed was the white pixels displaying 2:26 am along with another few missed calls from Tram's boyfriend Rich. The first thing I did was listen to the voicemail Rich left me. I like to listen to them before bed because his accented voice felt familiar, possibly one of the most comforting things I had left. It killed me that Dad made us cut all ties from him and Rosendale for 'my protection'. If I felt this hurt and drained over having to leave him, then I never want to even come close to imagining how Tram must feel about having to leave the first person to make him feel safe.

With the physical toll today had on me, the possible discovery of Nanna doing what I thought only I could do and the questions I had about the visions I see when touching someone, one of Richie Rich's voicemails was exactly what I needed.

"Hi Gracie, um, I'm not sure if you're even getting these but uh, I really miss you and your no good brother. I just wanna know if I did something or if you could just let me know that you're both safe, that would uh, that would be good. Anyway, just know that I love you like my own sister and I always have. Take care."